What To Do When You Feel Lazy
Why not? Why not do nothing? Why do I need to fulfil my obligations to anyone? Why should I not be able to change my mind? Why shouldn’t I speak my own personal truth’s? Why have I got to be like you? Why should I be rich, poor, worker, slave, fool, drunk, sober, violent, happy, sad, angry, in doubt, secure, depressed, enlightened, disillusioned, hateful, kind, venomous, generous, mean or selfish?
O.K I missed a couple of posts and for a moment I felt guilty? Was the guilt manifest because I know YOU? I know Sam K and Richard A. Who else do I know? The stranger, the unknown, the silent, the observer, the awaiting my demise, the happy to see me fail, are these the ones I should be attempting to write for?
I feel lazy. I do not want to do anything only read, listen to music, strum a few chords, drink some coffee, tea, beer. I want to think random thoughts. Jot sentences on scraps of paper not notes in a note book. I want to kill the man who I left tied up in his house. I want to write about the love of McRobbie. I need Mr Nice to enter the metamorphic magic which takes him into revenge. I want to go to a Parisian Jazz club and drink Absinthe. I want to see the pauper become happy. I wish to blind a Angel whisperer. I wish to test God and the Devil I want to unify them in an agreement of hatred for me and then spit in their eyes and call them liars.
Today I’m Thinking about Mara Krupp – Rosemary Dexter – And who were The Lovers in Alfred Eisenstaedt’s picture which his Leica recorded on V-J Day?
I’d like the thug to trip over and have his head squashed under the truck wheels. I’d like the bastard to get his comeuppance, I’d enjoy the news of his disease and can write about his long lingering death with sublime pleasure. And, when he dies I am free to write about him without fear of legal argument (you cannot defame a dead man). I think about the pleasure my character will feel as I write about the happiness he will enjoy from learning of his enemies lingering death.
I think about revenge, real revenge, bankrupting the prostitute by false rumour of AIDS. Poisoning the wrong dog. Maiming the wrong debtor. I want the smug bastard spiritual to go bankrupt owing her followers thousands. Think their geniuses rich mens wives being caught in bed with poxed waiters. A poor golf swing which blinds the surgeon who is going to operate on the golfers son’s tumour tomorrow. The next door neighbours holier than thou life ruined by his daughters orgy exploits being viewed by millions on the internet.
Yep! That’s how I feel today.
I want to research Sarin gas – kitchen sink poisons – home made atom bombs – perfect murders and body disposal – And this information is turned into a best seller and sold on eBay making me a millionaire.
I want to imagine the benefits of terminal disease… “Yes, Your Honour I am fully aware of my actions, and yes, I did go out with the full intent of using acid, paint stripper to maim and knives and cross bows to kill those who have caused me even the slightest trouble in my life” “What? Life imprisonment! F You Judge, I’ve only two more months to live.”
Whats the greatest thing about writing?
Thinking Up the ideas..
See you soon.